FROM  THE   BOOK 
OF   LIFE    i^^    c^ 

By   RICHARD   BURTON 

UC-NRLF 


CD 

o 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

University  of  California. 


Class  ^^'h 


FROM  THE  BOOK  OF  LIFE 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/frombookoflifepoOOburtrich 


ROM  THE 
BOOK  OF 
LIFE 


♦  ♦        ♦♦        ♦♦ 


"PO^MS 


By    RICHARD    BURTON 

AUTHOR  OF     "DUMB  IN  JUNE,"     "LYRICS 
OF   BROTHERHOOD,"    ETC 


SOSVOS^  A  LITTLE,  BROWN, 
AND    COMPANY    .-.     19  09 


SEkEHAL 


Copyright^  1909, 
By  Little,  Brown,  and  Company. 


AU  rights  reserved 


Published,  October,  1909 


Blectrotyped  and  Printed  by 
THE  COLONIAL  PJiESS 
C.  H.  Simonds  &  Co.,  Boston,  U.S.A. 


Acknowledgments  are  made  to  the  Editors 
of  The  Atlantic,  Scribner *s  Magazine,  Harper's, 
The  Century,  The  Outlook,  The  Reader,  and 
Putnam's  Magazine  for  permission  to  reprint 
many  poems  originally  appearing  in  their 
columns* 


192645 


CONTENTS 

The  Ultimate  Nation    • 

*        « 

PAGR 

I 

Ballade  of  the  Brave    . 

*        ♦        i 

4 

The  Saltrte    ♦ 

*        * 

6 

In  the  Place  de  la  Bastille 

*                         •                         4 

8 

Out  Fathers'  Friends    . 

•                         *                         < 

9 

Dead  Otit  of  Doors 

«                         •                         < 

n 

Shakspere  to  His  Mirror 

•                         •                         i 

.        12 

Dumb  Animals     . 

•                          * 

.       J3 

The  Final  Freedom 

*                         •                         4 

.        14 

Fools  of  Dream    • 

«                         *                         i 

16 

God's  Gift ;  the  Air      • 

•                         • 

.        J9 

The  Discard 

«                         • 

.       21 

Glimpses  of  Childhood  . 

•                         •                         i 

23 

I    Mother  Magic    . 

•                        • 

23 

II    In  the  Children's  Hospital  . 

.        24 

m    The  Dolls'  Hospital 

♦                         • 

.        25 

IV    Early  Loves 

♦                         • 

27 

V    Father  and  Son 

•                           «                           4 

.       29 

Vll 


CONTENTS 

PAGB 

Vistas  of  Labor    ♦ 

31 

I    The  Steamship  Stoker 

31 

\v      II    The  Miner 

^-*:;~^III    In  a  Sweatshop          ♦ 

• 

32 

33 

^IV    Factory  OitHren 

34 

The  Ancient  Chance      . 

36 

The  White  Thought      ♦ 

37 

To  One  Motjming 

38 

The  Symbol          ♦        . 

39 

A  Song  of  Gounod's    ♦ 

40 

A  Night  Gty 

42 

The  World's  Desire      • 

44 

The  Two  Raptures        ♦ 

46 

The  Passing  Pomp 

47 

Early  Night 

48 

Nature's  Word      ♦         • 

49 

Like  Qear  Music   ♦ 

50 

With  Dickens  at  the  Christmas  Hearth 

51 

Christmas  Tide      ♦ 

«        * 

54 

In  a  Copy  of  Mrs*  Browning's  **  Sonnets 

From  the  Portuguese"       ♦ 

♦        ♦ 

55 

Keats'  Grave  in  Rome          ♦ 

♦        ^ 

56 

Vlll 


CONTENTS 

The  Artist's  Prayer 

»        «        « 

PAGB 

.       60 

An  Italian  Beggar 

►        ♦        t 

.       62 

The  Sirocco  at  Amalfi 

f        •        * 

.       63 

The  Mother  Love 

»        *        t 

,       65 

On  the  Palatine  Hill 

»        ♦        • 

.       67 

The  Human  Note 

»        ♦        ♦ 

,       68 

Mttch  in  Little      ♦ 

>        *        ^ 

.       70 

San  and  Moon 

t        ♦        ♦ 

71 

The  Little  Ones    , 

*        *        * 

.       72 

Ealogy 

»        •        « 

.       73 

To  an  Evoltrtionist 

*        « 

.       74 

Li  a  Place  of  Honor     , 

«                           •                           4 

75 

Ballad  of  the  Prince  and 

the  Bird  ♦ 

76 

Song  of  the  Earthlings 

•                        «                         4 

82 

Two  Towns  of  Fame    , 

♦                         ♦                         « 

84 

Of  Those  Who  Walk  i 

Hone 

87 

The  Mother  Church 

♦        ♦        • 

89 

ix 


FROM 
THE    BOOK    OF   LIFE 

THE    ULTIMATE    NATION 

fCE  Babylon,  by  beauty  tcnantedt 
Li  pleasure  palaces  and  walks  of  pride. 
Like  a  great  scarlet  flower  reared  her  head. 
Drank  in  the  stin  and  laughed,  and  sinned 
and  died. 

Where  Tyre  and  Sidon  teemed  with  ships  aload. 
The  wharves  are  idle  and  the  waters  lone; 

And  to  the  Temple  that  was  His  abode 
Li  vain  Jerusalem  recalls  her  own. 

Brooding  the  bygone  from  her  sculptured  seats. 
In  living  rock  her  mighty  memories  hewn, 

I 


FROM   THE  BOOK   OF   LIFE 

Along  the  Nile,  wonder  of  water  streets. 
Old  fertile  Egypt  is  a  stranger^s  boon. 

Mark  Athens,  breathed  tipon  by  breath  of  gods. 
With  bards  and  sages  to  reveal  her  signs. 

Leap  like  a  flame  above  life's  iron  clods. 
To  fall  in  ashes  tfpon  vacant  shrines. 

And  Rome;  firm-fotmded  in  a  wide  emprise; 

Her  laws  and  legions;  her  imperial  goal. 
Avail  not  when  her  sometime  honor  dies. 

Smothered  in  shows  that  kill  the  mounting 
sofiL 

Stich  names  of  pride  and  power  have  been 
brought  low. 
Lapsing  alike  into  the  cavernous  years: 
Out  of  the  grayness  of  the  long  ago 
Their  ghosts  flit  homeless  and  we  guess  their 
tears. 


THE  ULTIMATE   NATION 

The  destiny  of  nations!    They  arise. 
Have  their  heyday  of  tritimph,  and  in  tarn 

Sink  iipon  silence  and  the  lidless  eyes 
Of  fate  salttte  them  from  their  final  tim. 

How  splendid-sad  the  story!    How  the  gtist 
And  pain  and  bliss  of  living  transient  seem! 

Cities  and  pomps  and  glories  shrunk  to  dust. 
And  all  that  ancient  opulence  a  dream. 

Must  a  majestic  rhythm  of  rise  and  fall 
Conquer  the  peoples  once  so  proud  on  earth? 

Does  man  but  march  in  circles,  after  all. 
Playing  his  curious  game  of  death  and  birth? 

Or  shall  an  ultimate  nation,  God's  own  child. 
Arise  and  rule,  nor  ever  conquered  be; 

Untouched  of  time  because^  all  undefiled. 
She  makes  His  ways  her  ways  eternally? 


FROM  THE  BOOK  OF  LIFE 


BALLADE    OF    THE    BRAVE 

RATE  not  to  me  of  weaklings,  who 
Lament  this  life  and  naaght  achieve. 
I  hymn  the  vast  and  valiant  crew 

Of  those  who  have  scant  time  to  grieve; 
Firm-set  their  fortunes  to  retrieve. 
They  sing  for  lack  a  Itisty  stave. 
The  world's  stattnch  workers,  by  your  leave,- 
This  is  the  ballade  of  the  brave. 

Wan  women,  steel  to  staggering  blows; 

White  sottis  from  many  a  nether  place; 
The  htttnble  heroes  and  the  foes 

Of  sham;  the  hunters  of  the  base. 
The  men  with  missions  in  their  face. 

The  clan  who  straighten,  heal  and  save; 
The  yotmg  who  think  each  card  an  ace, — 

Tfiis  is  the  ballade  of  the  brave. 
4 


BALLADE  OF  THE   BRAVE 

Those  who  with  stingless  latjgh  and  jest 

Sweeten  the  labor;  those  who  stake 
Their  all  on  some  sky-reaching  qoest. 

Unconquerable  for  conscience'  sake; 
The  warriors  who  a  last  stand  make. 

Though  loss  overwhelm  them,  wave  on  wave; 
Smiling,  the  while  their  hearts  do  break,  — 

This  is  the  ballade  of  the  brave! 

Brothers,  it  is  a  heavenly  stake 
Ye  play  for,  goodlier  than  the  grave. 

Then  play  it  well,  for  God's  sweet  sake,  — 
This  is  the  ballade  of  the  brave! 


FROM  THE  BOOK  OF  LIFE 


THE    SALUTE 

[Et  abotit  to  diCf  saltitc  yoti  kindly,  — 
We,  the  very  old,  hail  yoti,  the  yotjng, 
Thotigh  the  shows  of  earth  we  see  btrt  blindly. 
And  a  leaden  weight  is  on  our  tongoe* 

Btrt  our  wan  old  hearts  expand  in  pleasure, 
Watching  how  your  spirits  kindle  bright; 

And  we  dream  xss  back  to  springtime  treasure. 
Old,  dim  ardors,  ghosts  of  gone  delight* 

We  relive  in  you  the  chances  splendid. 
All  the  btrffetings  and  all  the  gains; 

0  the  sense  of  time  and  time  unended. 
Ere  the  hope  dies,  ere  the  wonder  wanes! 

How  yoti  love  and  fight  and  taste  of  rapture. 
How  your  sleep  restores  you  to  the  sun, 
6 


* 

THE  SALUTE 


How  the  sweet  of  every  hoar  yoti  capture 
Haughtily,  as  heroes  e'er  have  done! 

We  have  lived  and  loved,  as  you  are  doing; 

We  are  glad  to  see  yoti  ran  the  race; 
Half   yo«  seem  ourselves,  —  your  work,  your 
wooing, 

Yotir  high  stakes  of  glory  or  disgrace^ 

Hail!    Farewell!  nor  blame  tis  if  a  sadness 
Qtrtches  at  oar  throat  the  while  we  gaze 

Brokenly,  through  tears,  upon  that  gladness 
Once  was  oars  in  exquisite  old  days^ 

Not  one  bliss  nor  belief  would  we  dispute  you: 
Once  for  us  as  well  the  whole  earth  sung* 

We,  about  to  diZf  again  salute  you,— 
We,  the  elders,  hail  our  brothers  young! 


FROM   THE   BOOK   OF  LIFE 


IN  THE  PLACE  DE  LA  BASTILLE 

a  clear  day  in  Paris,  walking  where 
A  centti ry  ago  red  riot  leapt 
Torrent-like  down  the  streets,  I  was  aware 
How,  far  on  the  horizon  rim,  there  crept 
Pale,  ominous  clottds;  and  listening  I  heard 
Dim,  tmmistakable,  a  mtrttered  word: 

The  thtinder's  prelude  and  the  tempest's  threat. 
The  hotir  was  bright  with  stm  and  jest  and  song 
In  the  blithe  Capital,  and  yet,  and  yet. 
The  place  was  Paris  and  Men's  woes  are  long; 
Stidden,  for  me,  beneath  that  tranqtiil  sky. 
The  tragic  ttimbrils,  hark!  go  rimibling  by! 


8 


OUR  FATHERS'  FRIENDS 


OUR  FATHERS'   FRIENDS 

[In  Stockbridget  Massachusetts^  may  be  seen  a  memorial 
monument*  set  on  a  tree-shaded  knoU  overlooking  a  beautiful 
reach  of  meadow*  It  bears  the  inscription:  '^The  ancient 
burial  place  of  the  Stockbridge  Indians*  the  friends  of  our 
Fathers."] 

|ERE,  in  this  pleasant  mcadow-placct 
By  trees  o'erhung  and  with  the  breath 
Of  summer  fragrant,  for  a  space 
I  linger,  to  recall  the  death 

Of  the  red  men  of  yore,  whose  worth 
Is  here  recorded;  they  were  friends 

Unto  ottr  fathers,  and  their  earth  ^ 

Is  honored  thus;  their  memory  blends 

Benignant  with  the  tales  of  years 
When  red  and  white  lived  brotherly; 

From  tokenings  of  blood  and  tears 
These  cool,  gray  stones  seem  strangely  free. 
9 


FROM   THE   BOOK   OF   LIFE 

What  word,  what  deed,  made  peace  prevail  ? 

Why  did  they  share  the  ancient  good 
Of  wood  and  sky  and  river-dalet 

Sealing  a  pact  of  brotherhood  ? 

We  have  not  learned  the  lesson  yet; 

The  generations  still  arise 
And  smite  and  plunder,  and  forget 

The  other  teaching  of  the  skies* 


The  elms,  overarching,  answer  naught, 
Btit  still  the  scene  compels  the  gaze: 

Beneath  this  shaft,  in  kindness  wrought. 
Rest  the  red  friends  of  older  days* 


lO 


DEAD  OUT   OF  DOORS 


DEAD    OUT    OF    DOORS 


IGH  from  the  grotmdt  and  blown  upon  by 
air 

Sttn-sanctified;  catight  from  corrtiption's  moxAd, 
Girdled  by  streams  amidst  the  foot-hills  fair, 
With  wind-chants  making  masic  sweet  and  old. 

This  red  man  rests.    Unto  the  elements 
He  doth  return;  his  sotil  soars  glad  and  free. 
And  e'en  his  body  seems,  in  going  hence. 
To  cry,  **  0  grave,  where  is  thy  victory!  ** 


II 


FROM   THE   BOOK   OF   LIFE 


SHAKSPERE  TO  HIS  MIRROR 

flTHIN  thy  crystal  depths  I  see 
A  figare  semblable  of  me. 
Bat  no  more  me  than  I  am  one 

With  the  brtrte  rock  I  rest  apon; 
For  how  may  brow  or  eye  reveal 
The  infinites  wherewith  I  deal? 

Nay,  I  will  break  thee,  mirror  mine  ! 

The  tinseen  inward  is  divine. 
The  otitward  body  btrt  a  bowl 

That  covers  in  the  mounting  soaL 
If  any  one  wotild  trttly  know 

What  manner  of  man  I  come  and  go. 
Not  flesh  alone,  btrt  blood  and  breath, 

Lo,  Lear,  Lord  Hamlet  and  Macbeth! 

Poor  mammer,  I  mast  shatter  thee. 
Since  thoti  dost  bear  false  tales  of  mel 

12 


DUMB   ANIMALS 


DUMB  ANIMALS 

|E    call    them    dtimb  —  yet    daily    there 
uprise 

A  million  piteot^s  calls  of  agony^ 
Pleadings  for  peace  and  to  be  let  alone; 
For  every  inch  of  earth  there  is  a  moan, 
Through  all  the  air  athwart  the  land  or  sea, 
God,  how  the  waitings  storm  the  very  skies  I 

Call  them  not  dtimb  until  the  master,  man, 
Slow-tatight  by  fellow-feeling,  learns  to  give 
Each  himiblest  creattire  in  the  Mystic  Plan 
The  privilege  of  breath,  the  chance  to  live: 
Then  haply  shall  the  clamor  <ke  away. 
Lost  in  the  love  of  that  diviner  day. 


13 


FROM   THE   BOOK   OF   LIFE 


THE  FINAL  FREEDOM 

|T  the  grim  end,  no  prison  for  me 
Wherein  my  blanched  mortality, 
Immttred,  shall  lie,  because  it  mtist. 
Till  it  resolve  itself  to  dtist^ 

Nay,  let  a  flame,  of  mystic  might 
To  make  corruption  clean  and  light. 

Prepare  my  body  for  its  Fate, 
From  loathly  things  inviolate. 

Then,  standing  by  great  waters,  where 
The  heavens  stretch  wide,  and  stin  and  air 

And  ampleness  inhabit,  cast 
My  ashes  to  the  aztire  Vast* 

And  I  shall  thank  yoti,  being  blent 
"With  what  I  love,  the  element 
14 


THE   FINAL   FREEDOM 


Of  earth  refined  and  catight  away; 
Yes,  I  sliall  thank  you  and  shall  say: 

**  The  fierce  pargation  of  the  fire 
Has  loosed  my  spirit,  I  aspire 

Toward  God,  I  mount,  elate  and  free. 
One  with  the  wind  and  sky  and  sea/' 


IS 


FROM   THE   BOOK   OF   LIFE 


FOOLS  OF  DREAM 

)U  will  find  them  in  lone  hidings, 
Yoti  may  know  them  by  their  face, 
For  they  seem  to  bring  good  tidings 

From  some  bright,  anramored  place; 
Tidings  like  to  be  unnoted 

Of  the  world,  yet  very  sate 
To  bring  joy,  the  golden-throated, 
When  the  better  things  endure* 

Fools,  and  worse  than  fools,  we  call  them. 
And  they  smile  nor  make  reply; 

The  eternal  quests  enthrall  them. 
Though  we  hound  them  till  they  d^e; 

Even  midst  the  mob  they  wander 
With  a  dream-light  in  their  eyes, 
i6 


FOOLS    OF    DREAM 


And  their  look,  it  seems  to  ponder 
An  evangel  from  the  skies. 

Something  childlike  in  their  laughter 

Leaves  a  freshness  like  the  spring; 
At  their  beck,  those  follow  after 

Who  delight  in  wayfaring 
Where  the  road  leads  ever  higher 

And  the  wind  blows  back  the  hair. 
And  the  word  of  a  Messiah 

Hatmts  and  hovers  in  the  air. 

Nay,  the  world  can  never  datmt  them. 

For  their  gladness  is  within; 
Though  no  human  voice  may  vaunt  them. 

Though  their  deeds  be  reckoned  sin: 
In  the  fullness  of  the  Ages 

Lo!  they  come  into  their  own. 
And  they  light  Time's  dimmest  pages. 

Sitting  splendid  on  a  throne! 
I? 


FROM   THE  BOOK   OF   LIFE 

Let  US  toast  them,  since  they  cherish 
The  unbelievable,  quick  Gleam: 

To  the  fools  who  do  not  perish. 
To  the  deathless  fools  of  Dream! 


i8 


GOD'S   GIFT,   THE   AIR 


GOD'S   GIFT,   THE    AIR 

^^lOW,  is  there  anything  that  freer  seems 
^SB      Than  air,  the  fresh,  the  vital^  that  a 

man 
Draws  in  with  breathings  boantifal,  nor  dreams 

Of  any  better  bliss,  because  he  can 
Make  over  all  his  blood  thereby,  and  feel 

Once  more  his  youth  return,  his  mtiscles  steel. 
And  Life  grow  buoyant,  part  of  God's  good  plan! 

Oh,  how  on  plain  and  mountain,  and  by  streams 

That  shine  along  their  path;    o'er  many  a 

field 

Proud  with  pied  flowers,  or  where  sunrise  gleams 

In  spangled  splendors,  does  the  rich  air  yield 

Its  balsam;  yea,  how  hunter,  pioneer. 

Lover  and  bard  have  felt  that  heaven  was  near 
Because  the  air  their  spirit  touched  and  healed! 
19 


FROM   THE   BOOK   OF   LIFE 

And  yet  — God  of  the  open!  — look  and  see 

The  millions  of  Thy  creatures  pent  within 
Qose  places  that  are  foul  for  one  clean  breath 

Thrilling  with  health  and  hope  and  purity; 
Nature's  vast  antidote  for  stain  and  sin. 

Life's  sweetest  medicine,  this  side  of  death! 
How  comes  it  that  this  largess  of  the  sky 

Thy  children  lack  of,  till  they  droop  and  die} 


20 


THE  DISCARD 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


THE  DISCARD 

|E  is  the  discard  of  the  pack; 

He  wonders,  as  he's  tossed  aside. 
What  miss  was  his,  what  sorry  lacfc 
In  what  he  erred,  for  whom  he  died? 

The  two  and  fifty,  comrades  good. 
He  loved;  he  yearned  to  play  the  game; 

The  rules  he  thought  he  understood,  — 
Chances  for  glory  or  for  shame. 

And  so,  high-heartedly  he  leapt 
Into  the  maze  of  queens  and  kings; 

In  careless-wise,  the  Great  Adept 
His  soul  into  a  corner  flings* 

21 


FROM  THE   BOOK   OF  LIFE 


See,  the  once  merry  knave  lies  low, 
Fiizzledf  he  broods  his  fortune  black; 

This  one  thing  only  doth  he  know. 
He  is  the  discard  of  the  pack. 


22 


GLIMPSES    OF   CHILDHOOD 


GLIMPSES   OF  CHILDHOOD 
I 

MOTHER   MAGIC 

days  of  childhood^  now  long-lapsed  and 
dim. 

Often  I  sat  within  a  holy  place, 
Where  mystic  word  and  solemn-rolling  hymn 
Touched  the  tranced  sotils  of  men  to  thoughts 
of  grace* 

Too  small  to  comprehend,  yet  happy  there 
I  lingered,  since  beside  me,  close  and  dear. 
Sat  the  sweet  mother  with  her  rippled  hair, 
Her  smile  of  angels  and  her  color  clear* 

And  she  would  hold  my  hand  and  so  express 
In  some  deep  way  the  wonder  of  the  hour: 
23 


FROM   THE   BOOK  OF  LIFE 

Out  Spirits  talked,  by  silent  tenderness. 
As  easily  as  flower  nods  to  flower. 

And  to  this  day,  when  so  I  creep  alone 
Into  some  sacred  comer,  list  the  choir. 
Hear  the  great  organ's  most  melodious  moan 
And  watch  the  windows  flash  day-light  with  fire. 

Over  me  once  again  those  memories  steal; 
I  sit  as  in  a  dream  and  understand 
God's  meaning;  for,  across  the  years,  I  feel 
The  meek,  sure  magic  of  that  spirit  hand  ! 

n 

IN    THE    CHILDREN'S   HOSPITAL 

|AY  be  it  was  her  littleness,  may  be 

Because  she  looked  so  dumb  and  so 
forlorn. 
But  when,  in  that  sad  place,  they  showed  to  me 
The  shy,  small  stranger  and  I  knew  the  mom 
24 


GLIMPSES   OF   CHILDHOOD 

Must  pass  to  noon,  and  noon  give  place  to  night. 
Bringing  no  promise  of  a  better  day. 

And  she  so  meek,  so  grateful  for  the  sight 
Of  aught  to  drive  her  misery  away: 

Then  with  a  sacred  pity  my  heart  bled. 
And  seemed  rebuked  for  all  its  easy  years; 

Down  on  that  pillow  wee  I  bowed  my  head 
And  cherished  her;    her  tears  became  my 
tears. 

m 

THE    DOLLS'   HOSPITAL 

a  little  old  hdldkigf  up  under  the  roof. 
Where  you  grope  your  way  to  the  door. 
The  Hospital  hides,  and  it  seems  aloof 

From  the  city^s  rush  and  roar. 
And  here,  to  be  tinkered  as  good  as  new. 
Come  the  battered  dofls  at  last, 
25 


FROM   THE   BOOK  OF   LIFE 

Who  have  lived  with  children  the  long  year 
throwght 
The  favorites  of  the  past. 

High  and  low,  they  are  hither  borne. 

Troops  of  them  fill  the  place; 
The  fine  French  miss  with  her  look  of  scorn. 

And  the  rag  baby,  meek  of  face. 
'Tis  said,  cotild  yoti  visit  the  wards  by  night, 

When  the  grown-ups  are  all  away, 
Yoti  would  witness  then  a  wondrous  sight 

That  you  never  will  see  by  day. 

For  the  small  doU  people  foregather  there. 

The  maimed  and  the  mended  all. 
The  limping  beaux  and  the  faded  fair. 

For  a  talk  and  a  festival. 
They  dance  to  music,  their  limbs  grow  fleet. 

They  feast  with  a  right  good  cheer. 
Their  tiny  laughter  shrifls  high  and  sweet. 

Each  walks  with  his  chosen  dear. 
26 


GLIMPSES   OF    CHILDHOOD 

Btrt,  best  of  afl^  when  the  dance  is  done. 

They  chat  of  their  checkered  fates. 
Of  all  dofl-doings  under  the  s«n: 

Their  griefs,  and  their  missing  mates. 
The  st^dden  splendors,  the  chance  and  change. 

The  violence  and  the  bliss; 
And  they  whisper:    **  The  thing  called  Life  is 
strange! " 

Then  they  say  good-night,  with  a  kiss. 

In  the  morning,  never  a  doU  has  stirred. 
And  daylight  has  dimmed  their  charms; 

Yoti  cotild  swear  that  nothing  at  all  occurred 
Save  the  mending  of  legs  and  arms! 


IV 

EARLY    LOVES 

MIND  me  of  a  maid  with  tawny  hair 
That  grew  in  sombre  glory  round  her 
head; 

27 


FROM  THE  BOOK  OF  LIFE 

And  of  another  maid  —  long  since  she's  dead  — 

Stinnily  fair. 
And  O  I  loved  them  both  when  I  was  ten! 
Theyt  being  angels^  had  no  age  like  men* 

Totfching  their  hands,  I  trembled  with  delight^ 
Their  voices  blent  to  music  in  mine  ear; 
Together  or  apart,  they  were  so  dear. 

By  day  or  night. 
It  turned  me  sick  with  rapture,  if  they  leant 
Momently  down  to  me  with  kind  intent. 

My  choice  of  these  twin  flowers  of  maidenhood? 
The  witless  question  would  have  roused  my  scorn. 
What  need  to  choose  betwixt  the  night  and  mom, 

When  both  are  good? 
The  sunlight  and  the  starlight,  what  are  they 
But  one  sweet  radiance  of  the  Far-away? 

They  dubbed  me  **  little  sweetheart,'^  I  recall. 
And  with  each  other  vied  to  give  me  joy; 
28 


GLIMPSES   OF   CHILDHOOD 

For  they  were  women  grown,  I  btrt  a  boy. 

Their  hamble  thrall. 
My  love  was  desperate-earnest,  holy  and  high 
The  passion  that  I  nursed  beneath  the  sky. 

So,  when  they  were  betrothed,  and  I  most  know 
The  transiency  that  dooms  all  loves  of  earth. 
It  seemed  a  cttrioos,  bitter,  second  birth 

Into  man's  woe. 
**  My  maids  no  more,  my  maids  no  more/'  I 

said, 
A  ten-year-old  lamenting  o'er  his  dead. 


V 

FATHER   AND    SON 

ECE  I  summoned  him,  for  he 
Would  not  own  his  fault,  nor  break 
His  proud  dumbness,  facing  me 
Like  a  stone,  for  Courage'  sake. 
29 


FROM   THE   BOOK   OF   LIFE 

Once  again  he  came,  and  lo! 

Inspiration  from  on  high 
"Whispered:    **  Fool,  do  ye  not  know 

He  is  only  scared  and  shy? '' 

Fell  a  silence  in  the  room; 

There  he  stood,  removed^  estranged. 
Prisoner  to  hear  his  doom; 

Suddenly  it  all  was  changed; 

Tenderly  I  drew  him  near. 
Held  him  as  men  hold  their  own^ 

Melted  all  his  frozen  fear 
In  Love's  warmth  of  touch  and  tone* 

So,  the  f ather-sotil  he  gttessed. 

We  no  longer  were  apart. 
And  the  son  his  sin  confessed. 

Sobbed  it  otrt  against  my  heart* 


30 


VISTAS   OF   LABOR 


VISTAS    OF    LABOR 

**  How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long  I  ** 

I 
THE  STEAMSHIP  STOKER 

1  WHAT  -  DRENCHED,  and  blinded  by  the 
heatt  he  reels 
Back  from  the  f ttmace,  crawls  on  deck  to  win 
A  cooling  breath  or  two,  ere  pitmging  down 
Into  his  torttire-hotise  of  Steam* 

In  trtrth. 
He  earns  his  heaven,  for,  fierce  hotir  by  hour. 
He  knows  the  bitterness  and  bite  of  hell. 
What  more  cotild  heaven  do  for  any  soul 
Than  fan  a  burning  brow  with  airs  as  bland 
As  those  of  Arcady,  and  soothe  the  eyes 
31 


FROM   THE   BOOK   OF   LIFE 

With  totfch  of  winsome  waters,  at  whose  call 
The  seeming  dead  grow  light  and  labor-strong! 

n 

THE  MINER 

|P  creaks  the  car;  he  leaves  his  ghastly  dream 
Of  f lickeringt  strange  lights  and  caverns 

gloomedt 
Grim  fears  of  death-damp  and  the  rumblings 

deep 
Of  an  inferno  whence  the  damned  come  back 
Daily  to  taste  of  Paradise^  before 
The  Devil  bids  them  down;  up  creaks  the  car 
Disgorging  men  and  mad  indifferently* 

How  sweet  the  lingering  stm,  and  yonder,  look, 
The  cabin  lights  are  beckoning  fondly,  where 
"Warm  love  awaits  him;  for  a  little  space 
He's  no  machine  btrt  human,  and  his  God 
Ottr  God, —  no  mid-earth  Devil,  btrt  a  power 
32 


VISTAS   OF   LABOR 


Benign  and  near.  •  *  • 

Btrt  now  the  nether  pit 
Reclaims  these  children  of  a  double  worldt 
And  once  again  Life  is  a  nightmare  dream* 

m 

IN  A  SWEATSHOP 

R^raENT  in^  and  sickening  for  one  wholesome 
KHa        draught 

Of  air,  —  God's  gift  that  cities  sell  so  dear. 
They  stitch  and  stitch.    The  dim  lights  fall  upon 
Bent  bodies,  hollowed  bosoms  and  dead  eyes. 
Their  very  mirth  is  horrible  to  hear. 
It  is  so  joyless!    Every  needle-stroke 
Knits  into  dainty  fabrics  that  shall  go 
Where  Fashion  flaunts,  the  protest  and  the  pain 
Of  ravaged  lives,  of  souls  denied  their  food. 

At  last  the  clock-stroke!     From  the  beetling 
shop 

33 


FROM   THE   BOOK   OF   LIFE 

The  prisoners  file,  and  up  and  down  the  street 

Scatter  to  htrtches  htimorists  call  Home, 

To  sin,  to  diet  or,  if  it  may  be,  cititch 

Some   pleasure   fierce   enotigh   to   drown   the 

thotight 
That  on  the  morrow  they  must  meet  again# 

IV 

FACTORY  CHILDREN 

|£R£  toil  the  striplings,  who  should  be  a- 
swarm 

In  open,  stin-kissed  meadows;  and  each  day 
Amid  the  monstrous  murmur  of  the  looms 
That  still  their  treble  voices,  they  become 
Tiny  automata,  mockeries  of  youth: 
To  her  that  suckled  them,  to  him  whose  name 
They  bear,  mere  fellow-earners  of  Life's  bread: 
No  time  for  tenderness,  no  place  for  smiles, — 
These  be  the  world's  wee  workers,  by  your  leave  I 
34 


VISTAS   OF   LABOR 


Naught  is  more  piteous  underneath  the  sky 
Than  at  the  scant  noon  hour  to  see  them  play 
Feebly,  without  abandon  or  delight 
At  some  poor  game;   so  grave  they  seem  and 

crushed! 
The  gong!     and  fouhiess  sucks  them  in  once 

more* 

Yet  still  the  message  wonderful  rings  clear 
Above  all  clang  of  commerce  and  of  mart: 
**  Suffer  the  little  children/^  and  again: 
**  My  Kingdom  is  made  up  of  such  as  these/' 


35 


FROM   THE   BOOK   OF   LIFE 


THE  ANCIENT  CHANCE 

lTTLE  and  fog  and  dream. 
Bounded  by  birth  and  death; 
Pattern  of  gloom  and  gleam 
Woven  of  cloud  and  breathe 

Haply  the  Gods  are  wise,  — 

Blind  are  we  mortal  folk; 
Vision  is  more  than  eyes. 

Daily  out  hearts  are  broke. 

Btrt  O  while  we  feel  the  sun 
And  still  love  lures  our  feet. 

Blithely  the  way  we  run 
And  the  ancient  chance  is  sweet! 


36 


THE   WHITE   THOUGHT 


THE  WHITE   THOUGHT 

|E  teeming  transients  of  the  sun. 
Until  otir  eager  race  be  rttn. 
Bestir  as  in  a  hundred  ways 
To  leave,  before  the  cavemed  dark 
Engtilf  us,  some  small,  vital  spark  — 
A  firefly  in  a  somber  maze  — 
To  say  to  those  who  follow,  we 
Are  not  extinguished  utterly; 
Our  mortal^  that  is  less  than  naught. 
Fixed  in  a  white,  immortal  thought. 


37 


FROM   THE   BOOK   OF   LIFE 


TO  ONE   MOURNING 

|EAR  one,  give  way  to  grief.    And  yet. 
As  sure  as  doth  the  violet 
Smell  sweeter,  wet  with  rain,  shall  you 
Arise  enriched  to  dare  and  do. 
Through  this  black  hotir  whose  weight  like  lead 
Bows  you  in  anguish  by  the  dead; 
The  very  silence  and  the  pall 
May  seem  sheer  kindness,  after  all. 

So,  rest  in  that  Divine  perhaps; 
The  pain  that  stabs,  the  doubt  that  saps 
The  spirit,  why,  they  may  be  naught 
But  shadows  of  the  shining  thought 
That  is  too  splendid  and  too  bright 
For  the  endurance  of  our  sight. 
The  otherwise  o'er-radiant  spheres 
Being  tempered  for  us  by  our  tears* 

38 


THE   SYMBOL 


THE   SYMBOL 

(**  The  whole  creation  groaneth and  travaileth  together'') 

|HE  whole  creation  groaneth  — yet  are  we 
Children  of  Joy:  we  love,  we  long  for  this; 
Earth's  angtiish  cannot  kill  ottr  constancy 
Li  clinging  to  some  foolish  dream  of  bliss* 
Whene'er  we  meet,  we  smile  as  who  should  say: 
^  'Twill  come,  the  better  day/' 

Children  of  Pain,    Ah,  yes,  children  of  Sorrow, 
'Tis  trtie;  btit  with  to-morrow, 
Who  knows  what  bettering  of  grief  and  guile? 
Meeting  and  greeting  our  sad  fellow-men. 

Over  and  o'er  again 
Meeting  and  greeting,  we  do  use,  the  while. 

This  symbol  of  a  smilel 


39 


FROM    THE    BOOK    OF    LIFE 


A  SONG  OF  GOUNOD'S 

a  dim  sea-coast,  long  ago,  — 
Since  then,  how  years  and  years  have 
sped! 
We  leaned  and  listened  to  the  low 

Sea  voice,  and  marvelled  what  it  said? 
While,  blown  along  the  gtisty  air, 
I  felt  the  fragrance  of  yotir  hair* 

And  sitting  there,  with  tender  tone 
Yoii  sang  the  song  that  now  I  hear: 

Sang  it  as  yo«  could  sing  alone. 
Sweet  one,  long  dead  and  stifl  so  dear: 

I  cotjid  not  hear  that  song  again 
Without  the  bliss,  withotrt  the  pain* 

Therefore,  to-night  my  heart  is  true 
In  the  hot  room:  and  memory's  surge 
40 


A   SONG   OF    GOUNOD'S 


Bears  me  straight  back  to  yotrth  and  yoti. 
And  all  the  passion  and  the  urge 

Rise  op  once  more  from  otrt  the  sea. 
Wedding  as  twain  etemallyl 


41 


FROM   THE   BOOK   OF   LIFE 


A  NIGHT  CITY 

[S  monster  of  the  myriad  lights^ 
How  manifold  its  mood  o'  nights; 
Here  pain  and  pleasure  jostle  free. 
Meek  Christliness  and  viflainy, 
Joyance  and  stem  demand  for  breads 
The  glittering  and  the  better  dead; 
A  weltering  mass  that  seems  to  sway 
Blindly,  beneath  God's  starry  way* 

Is  there  some  thread  of  plan  to  bind 
This  ctfrioas  web  of  htimankindt 
And  make  it  beatttiftti?    These  cries. 
That  inartictilate  take  the  skies. 
Have  they  their  meaning  and  their  song? 
What  central  fire  impels  the  throng 
Up  to  some  mount  where  Beatrty  sits. 
Or  down  to  Shame's  most  shameful  pits? 
42 


A   NIGHT    CITY 


Look!  'midst  the  lights  gleams  forth  the  troth: 

Whatso  they  do,  whether  in  sooth 

They  seek  Perfectioiit  or  are  bent 

On  Mammon,  or  xsse  devilment 

That  drags  to  hell,  this  seething  world 

Is  by  one  Vision  onward  whirled. 

And  all  yon  tangle  comes  to  this: 

One  huge  and  hungry  hunt  for  Bliss! 


43 


FROM   THE   BOOK   OF  LIFE 


THE  WORLD'S  DESIRE 

lUTY  is  like  a  star 
Shamed  in  the  bold  day-light, 
Btrt  coming  otrt  of  the  far 
At  the  call  of  the  mystic  night. 

Beatfty  is  like  a  dream; 

We  wake,  and  lo,  it  is  flown; 
If  we  sleep  again,  Hwottld  seem 

We  may  make  it  o«r  very  own. 

Beatrty  is  like  a  flower 

In  a  dusk  garden  set. 
That,  reaved  away,  for  an  hotif 

Gives  of  her  odor  yet. 

Beatfty  is  like  a  ttine 
Soft-played  in  a  perfect  place 
44 


THE   WORLD'S   DESIRE 


Where,  slowly  under  the  moon, 
Walk  figtires  of  wondrous  grace 

Beauty  2s  like  a  flame 

That,  fanned  by  the  breath  of  men. 
Leaps  into  loud  acclaim^ 

Fitfully  falls  again* 

Yea,  and  they  all  are  as  one: 
They  carry  the  world's  desire. 

Out  of  far  mystery  spun. 
Melody,  fragrance  and  firel 


45 


FROM  THE  BOOK  OF  LIFE 


THE   TWO  RAPTURES 

I  WO  raptures  arc  there;    one  is  of  the 
spring; 

Life  leaps  down  all  her  sotirces  and  is  glad 

With  gladness  that  enfolds  each  humblest  thing. 

Ftirrows  teem  fragrant,  trees  with  btids  go 

mad; 

Htisic  and  color  and  a  stmbright  glee 

Tarn  sullen  earth  into  sweet  Arcady^ 

The  atittimn's  rapttire  is  a  soberer  wight, 

Btrt  deep  in  tender  dreams  and  rich  in  rare 
Designs,  and  mellow  harmonies  of  light* 

The  hills  lie  steeped  in  memories  most  fair. 
The  forests  blaze  with  visions,  and  the  year. 
Two-minded,  mingles  elegies  of  dearth 
With  hopeftil  hymns  of  yet  triumphant  births 
When  May  returns,  when  Spring  again  is  here* 

46 


i 

THE    PASSING    POMP 


THE  PASSING  POMP 

JOVE,  a  wildering  world  of  gray,  — 
Mist  and  rain-wreath  and  shroud,  - 
Till  the  splendid  stm  shall  have  his  way. 
Breaking  the  barrier  clottd. 

Beneath,  walks  Atittimn,  the  regal  one. 

Robed  in  russet  and  red; 
Where  be  the  glories  of  Solomon^ 

The  pomps  of  the  stately  dead? 

And  through  it  all  sounds  a  spirit-caU 

Mingled  of  woe  and  mirth; 
^  I  am  the  ghost  of  a  festival 

In  the  ancient  days  of  the  Earth.** 


47 


FROM   THE   BOOK   OF   LIFE 


EARLY  NIGHT 

|HE  day  was  dead,  with  requiems  of  the 
wind; 

Black  grew  the  stinset  hills  against  a  flash 
Of  cold,  clear  yellow,  and  the  air  was  Itish 
With  scents  the  stinny  noon  had  left  behind* 
Day's  homeliest  sights  ttimed  mystical,  refined 
Within  the  half-light*     Solemn,  slow,  night's 

hash 
Came  on,  soft  thridden  where  a  hidden  thrtish 
Vented  dim  notes  that  spake  a  dreamful  mini 

A  sense  of  loneliness  fell  on  the  earth. 
The  sky  seemed  tranced  in  meditation,  rest. 
Or  brooded  fears  of  winter  and  his  dearth; 
A  slender  moon  stole  out  upon  the  West, 
A  sickle  keen  that  reaped  the  single  star 
Tliat  shines  for  lovers,  wheresoever  they  are* 

48 


NATURE'S    VORD 


NATURE'S  WORD 

holy   moments,    when    great    Nattirc 


Bf 


Hushed  and  a-Iisten,  earth  and  air  and  sky 
In  all  their  loveliness  arotjsed  from  dreams. 
Ready  for  revelations  from  on  high; 

We  mortals,  too,  await  in  wonder  then,  — 
Hearts    throbbing    like    some    small,    jfist- 
captured  bird,  — 

Something  divine  abotit-to-be, — ah,  when 
Or  where  we  know  not,  bat  we  trust  the  Word* 


49 


FROM   THE    BOOK   OF   LIFE 


LIKE   CLEAR  MUSIC 

)NG-BURIED  women^  yc  arise  for  me 
With  more  of  Life  and  Life's  reality 
Than  all  the  living  whom  I  see  and  towch: 
Sappho  and  Helen,  Joan  who  died  for  France, 
And  that  Scotch  qtieen  with  magic  in  her  glance; 
And,  like  clear  masic  otrt  of  ancientry, 
Rizpah  and  Rtith,  and  Mary  who  loved  much*  — 
A  text  yoti  are  for  man's  delights  and  tears. 
And  do  birt  freshen  with  the  fall  of  years* 


50 


WITH    DICKENS   AT  CHRISTMAS 


WITH  DICKENS  AT  THE 
CHRISTMAS  HEARTH 

jj^QEFORE  the  Christmas  hearth  I  muse 

B^y  alone. 

And  visions  of  the  past,  for  grave  and  gay. 

Rise  from  the  rtiddy  coals*    Otitside,  the  moan 
Of  homeless  winds  is  chidden  by  the  lay 
Sweet-stmg  by  children  who  keep  holiday. 

Making  the  season's  mood  their  very  own* 

And  slowly,  while  I  gaze  and  dream  and  grow 
Less  lonesome,  do   the  sights  and  sounds  of 
earth 
Fade,  and  my  fancy  wanders  to  and  fro 

"With  a  great  Master  of  lament  and  mirth 
Who  waved  his  wand  to  gild  the  Long  Ago* 
SI 


FROM    THE    BOOK    OF  LIFE 

A  wondrous  Company!    Micawber  smiles 
In  spite  of  poverty;  and  Little  Nell, 

Too  frail  a  flower,  travels  her  weary  miles. 
Then  fafls  on  sleep;  and  David  tries  to  tell 
The  trials  of  the  yoting;  now  Pickwick's  spell 
Makes  laughter  easy;  on  a  pinnacle 

Of  sacrifice  sits  Carton,  'midst  war's  wiles* 

Now  the  air  sweetens,  for  those  brothers  twain. 
The   blithesome  Cheerybles,  have  preached 
their  creed 
Of  kindness;  honest  Tapley  hails  again 
A  world  too  pleasant;  while  their  horses  speed. 
The  "Weflers  make  the  welkin  ring  indeed; 
Lo!   Dedlock  House  looms  darkly  through  the 
rain* 

And  look!  the  tiny  dressmaker  limps  by; 

And  she,  eternal  type  of  faithfuhiess, 
Dorrit,  whom  prisons  do  not  daunt;  her  eye 

Is  for  her  father;  next,  in  seaman's  dress 
52 


WITH    DICKENS   AT    CHRISTMAS 

Qtiaint  Captain  Ctrttic  lifts  his  hook  to  bless 
His  darlings;  Barkis  at  low  tide  mtist  die* 

DroIIst  villains^  gentle  folk  of  all  degrees^ 
Make  popaloos  the  air,  an  hundred  strong; 

Last  comes,  as  fits  the  season,  Scrooge,  his  knees 
A-tremble,  till  he  harks  the  Qiristmas  song 
Of  Love,  and  knows  that  spite  and  greed  are 
wrong. 

And  how  that  charity  is  more  than  these* 

Master  of  human  hearts!    No  Christmas  tide 
Whose  chants  are  not  the  sweeter  and  whose 
cheer 

Is  not  more  blest  since  Dickens  lived  and  diedl 
The  savor  of  Iiis  teaching  makes  each  year 
Richer  in  homely  virtues,  doth  endear 

Man  tinto  man;  hence,  shall  he  long  abide* 


53 


FROM   THE   BOOK   OF   LIFE 


CHRISTMAS    TIDE! 

>TMAS  tide  is  a  time  of  cold. 
Of  weathers  bleak  and  of  winds  ablow; 
Never  a  flower  — fold  on  fold 
Of  grace  and  beatity  — tops  the  snow 
Or  breaks  the  black  and  bitter  moold* 

And  yet  'tis  warm  —  for  the  chill  and  gloom 
Glow  with  love  and  with  childhood's  glee; 
And  yet  'tis  sweet  —  with  the  rich  perfume 
Of  sacrifice  and  of  charity* 
Where  are  flowers  more  fair  to  see? 

Christmas  tide,  it  is  warm  and  sweet: 
A  whole  world's  heart  at  a  Baby's  feet! 


54 


IN    MRS.   BROWNING'S    **  SONNETS'' 

IN    A    COPY    OF    MRS*    BROWN- 
ING'S ''SONNETS  FROM  THE 

PORTUGUESE'^ 

RS^NCE  a  white  sotil,  meeting  her  destined 
■HI  mate^ 

Potired  forth  her  solemn  joy  in  tender  song 
That,  like  some  mystic  bird's,  rose  blithely  strong. 
Shaking  off  sorrow  with  a  voice  elate* 
Frail  was  her  body,  wearisome  her  fate; 
Even  to  dream  of  Love  seemed  somewise  wrong. 
For  one  remote  from  Life's  fall-ptilsing  throng 
And  finding  btrt  in  dreams  her  true  estate. 
Btrt  lo!  the  change,  the  golden  miracle! 
He  came:  and  lighted  all  her  sombre  skies; 
And  she  was  given  the  singing  tongue  to  tefl 
How  sodden-sweet  the  world  to  lover's  eyes* 
Strength  otrt  of  weakness,  glory  otit  of  grief 
Issuing,  —  as  from  dark  roots  the  glad,  green 
leaf. 

55   . 


FROM   THE   BOOK   OF   LIFE 


KEATS'    GRAVE    IN    ROME 

jHOUGH  thotj  liest  prone  and  mtrte 
In  this  beatrty-girdlcd  place. 
Sweeter  than  the  sotind  of  Itrte 
Is  thy  voice  wnto  otf r  race* 

From  the  house  that  fronts  the  sqtiare 
Often,  dying,  thou  didst  gaze 

Up  the  stately  steps,  to  where 
The  old  church  above  the  maze 

Of  the  city  rings  her  bells; 

Where  the  flower-girls  are  gay. 
Where  Rome's  traffic  sinks  and  swells 

Through  the  livelong  summer  day. 

From  that  house,  across  the  wide 
Sea  of  city,  thou  wast  borne, 
56 


KEATS'    GRAVE   IN    ROME 

Faithful  Severn  at  thy  side; 
Aht  how  slight  thoti  wert^  and  woml 

Cestitfs'  pyramid,  otrtside 
The  Atirelian  wall,  thy  sleep 

Broods  above,  as  thotigh  in  pride 
Such  a  watch  and  ward  to  keep* 

It  is  well  thou  restest  here: 

For  thy  friends,  the  trees  and  flowers. 
Bend  above  thee  close  and  dear^ 

Solacing  the  dreamftil  hours. 

And  the  grass  grows  tenderly 
AU  about  thy  sleep,  and  skies 

Softly  smile,  and  birds  make  glee 
And  long  shadows  soothe  tliine  eyes* 

In  the  city,  stately  tombs 
Carven  o'er  with  saint  and  sage. 

Hold  in  their  sepulchral  rooms 
The  renowned  of  history^s  page,  — 
57 


FROM   THE  BOOK  OF  LIFE 

Pope  or  warrior  or  prince. 
Set  in  pomp  that  cannot  add 

Atight  of  pride  or  pleastfre,  since 
They  arc  vanished,  good  and  bad. 

Thott,  far  better,  slamberest  long 
In  the  large,  free  air  of  God, 

Compamed  by  bloom  and  song, 
Qadled  in  the  scented  sod; 

And  thy  lovers,  near  and  far. 
Faring  hither,  linger,  dream 

O'er  thy  grave,  while  stin  and  star 
Gtiard  thee  with  fraternal  gleam. 

Brother  thoti  tmto  them  all. 
Brother  dear  to  tis,  0  boy. 

For  thotf  harkedst  to  Beatrty's  call, 
Wert  an-htingered  for  the  joy 

58 


KEATS'    GRAVE    IN    ROME 

That  lies  hid  in  common  earth. 
That  inflames  the  outer  stins, 

"Whose  rich  mtjsic  comes  to  birth 
Only  through  God's  chosen  ones* 

Thott  may'st  hear  the  violets  grow  — 
Twas  thy  wish  — and  know  at  last 

That  triumphant  trumpets  blow 
Thy  young  name,  each  silver  blast 

Bruiting  thee  across  a  world. 

Sleep  secure,  and,  year  by  year. 
As  the  flowers  are  unfurled. 

As  the  birds  make  merry  checr^^ 

May  thy  Spirit,  blithe  of  tongue, 
Qianting  deathlessly  and  braver 

Keep  our  souls  forever  young. 
Draw  our  hearts  unto  thy  grave! 


59 


FROM   THE   BOOK  OF   LIFE 

THE    ARTIST'S    PRAYER 

(Qnqtsecento) 

[ORD  God,  I  have  been  guilty  in  my  life, 
Yet  worshipped  Beatrty,  and  aspire  to 
make 
A  work  that  shall  have  love  and  faith,  heart- 
break. 
Passion  and  joy  and  triumph  after  strife. 
And  all  the  glow  wherewith  the  sky  is  rife* 

And  I  implore  thee.  Master,  for  the  sake 
Of  this,  the  longing  of  my  sotil,  to  give 
Thy  potent  aid:  since  thoti  art  pain  and  bliss 
And  faith  and  love  and  everything  that  is* 
Look  down  upon  my  work  and  let  it  live 
And  be  forever  lovely;  and  for  this 
Great  boon  of  thine,  I  swear  to  do  thy  will 
60 


.THE   ARTIST'S   PRAYER 

Each  several  hotift  all  other  wills  above; 
Yea,  I  will  btim  six  candles  at  thy  shrine 
That  stands  betwixt  the  crossways,  as  a  sign 
Of  the  devotion  that  is  in  my  heart* 

Hark  to  my  supplication,  thoti  who  art 

Merciftil:  let  my  work  be  sanctified 

And  meet  for  her,  the  blameless  Virgin  bride: 

Make  me  all  pare  for  painting,  so  I  can 

Speak,  throtigh  my  pigments,  of  the  Son  of  Man. 


6i 


FROM    THE    BOOK  OF    LIFE 


AN    ITALIAN    BEGGAR 

|0t  little  gift,  the  road  beside. 

That  winds  along  by  the  vineyards  gay. 
All  yotf  want  is  oar  coin,  I  know. 

And  yoti  thru st  yotir  roses  tender  otir  noses. 
Hoping  to  conquer  oar  scruples  so* 

What  I  shotjid  do  is  to  answer:    **Noi 
Beggars  should  always  be  denied'' 

What  I  do,  is  to  throw  to  yoxs 

All  my  change,  —  for  my  heart  beats  yoting. 
This  is  Italy,  skies  are  bitie. 

All  abotrt  me  I  hear  a  tongue 
Made  for  song,  — and  your  eyes  are  bright. 

Dusk  your  hair,  and  your  face  a-Iight 
And  lovely,  —  bless  me,  what  money  pays 

For  this  land  of  lands  and  this  day  of  daysl 

62 


THE    SIROCCO    AT   AMALFI 


THE    SIROCCO    AT    AMALFI 

(The  beautiftsl  Italian  coast  town  of  Amalfi  was  wcll-nigh 
overwhelmed  hundreds  of  years  ago  by  a  sudden  inundation 
of  the  sea.) 


W 


mom  was  bland  and  stin-drenched;  all 
the  air 
Sparkled  and  sang,  and  from  the  langtiorotjs 

shore 
One  looked  and  lazed  and  lingered,  glad  to  be 
Where  everything  was  sweet  and  still  and  fair; 
Olives  and  oranges  and  roses  wore 
A  summer  aspect,  and  the  smiling  sea 
Lipped  the  white  sands  in  amorous  amity; 
While  far  aloft,  the  mighty  crags  peered  down 
Upon  the  sltonber  of  the  white,  wee  town* 

Then  came  Sirocco:    Lo,  the  heavens  paled 
Through  grey  to  glooms   the  waters    changed 
their  tune 

63 


FROM   THE  BOOK   OF   LIFE 

To  one  of  sttbtle  sorrow;  charged  with  mist. 
Blew  in  a  wind  that  woke  the  waves  and  wailed 
And  6iedf  to  lift  again  a  kind  of  crown 
Above  the  breakers  where  they  cttrled  and  hissed: 
Amalfi  shuddered,  — did  she  not  divine 
The  anguish  and  the  omen  of  the  brine? 


64 


THE    MOTHER   LOVE 


THE    MOTHER    LOVE 

(MicBael  Angclo's  Picti  in  St  Peter's,  Rome) 

[S  master-stroke  that  deals  with  the 
divine 

Is   richly  htanan:    thoughts   of  pomp   and 
praise 
Merge  into  tender  pity;  the  benign 
Face  of  the  woman  only  speaks  of  days 

When,  as  a  little  lad,  the  Christ  would  cling 
Unto  her  garment's  hem,  and  she  would  bend 

To  help  him,  or  would  haply  hide  to  sing 
Some  homespun  croon  tfiat  might  his  sorrow 
mend. 

Man^rown,  she  saw  Him  crucified,  and  now. 
His  broken  body  from  the  fearful  tree 

Cherishing  in  her  arms,  with  eye  and  brow 
Tliat  brood  the  past,  she  scarcely  seems  to  sec 

65 


FROM   THE   BOOK  OF   LIFE 

The  ftrttire  with  its  glory;  yoti  bat  feel 
That  she  is  blest  all  other  dames  above. 

Because  her  own  sweet  son  at  last  may  steal 
Back  to  the  mother-lap,  the  mother-love. 


66 


ON    THE   PALATINE   HILL 


ON    THE    PALATINE    HILL 

|BOVE  the  palace  of  the  Caesars  blow 
Poppies  and  btrttercops,  and  rise  cx)oI 
trees: 
The  palms  and  pines  and  slender  cypresses. 
"What  pomps  and  passions  btiried  under  these. 
Long  time  agone^  sttch  a  great  while  ago! 


67 


FROM   THE   BOOK  OF   LIFE 


THE    HUMAN    NOTE 

IHROUGH  the  hamionics  of  heaven  stole 
a  note  of  throbbing  pam, 
Totjched  with  longing,  tinged  with  sadness, 
seeming  human  in  its  birth; 
Seeming  less  the  stainless  music  that  is  meet  for 
stich  domain 
Than  the  cry  of  some  dazed  mortal,  yearning 
backward  toward  the  earths 

Btrt  it  did  not  sound  forever,  this  stray  note  so 
passionate; 
Soon  the  singer,  now  all-angel,  sang  with 
others  round  the  throne: 
**  Glory,  glory! "    Past,  forgotten,  life  and  love 
beyond  the  gate. 
That  before  had  set  his  singing  to  a  tragic 
undertone. 

68 


THE  HUMAN   NOTE 


Yet  there  vanished  then  a  richness  more  than 
psaltery  or  Itite 

Cotild  outpotir^  though  seraphs  piticked  them^ 
worshiping  the  Lord  anear; 
For  within  that  vibrant  grieving,  now  forever 
hushed  and  mtrte. 

Lay  the  pathos  of  endeavor,  hope  and  heart- 
break, love  and  fear; 

Yea,  the  wistftil  htmian  groping,  and  the 
doubt  that  makes  it  dear* 


69 


FROM   THE   BOOK  OF   LIFE 


MUCH    IN    LITTLE 

rST  seven  little  notes  — 
(For  the  notes  of  the  scale  are  seven). 
Yet  tip  from  their  whiteness  floats 
AH  passion  Hwixt  hell  and  heaven* 


70 


SUN   AND   MOON 


SUN    AND    MOON 

[OVE'S  passion,  the  stm,  haras  on  high 
For  a  day,  and  Life  leaps  to  its  kiss; 
Oh,  the  joy  of  the  loved  one  anigh! 
Oh,  the  rush  and  the  rapture  of  bliss! 

Bttt  the  dusk  falls.    Love's  memory,  a  moon» 
Sliines  sad  in  the  mystical  night; 

Ah,  the  passion  that  passes  too  soon! 
Ah,  the  fair,  tmforgotten  delight! 


71 


FROM   THE   BOOK   OF   LIFE 


THE    LITTLE    ONES 

|HE  little  onest  ah  Godt  these  tiny  nestlefs! 
Amidst  OUT  sweat  and  strifet 
How  they  do  sweeten  for  tss  sorry  wrestlers 
The  bitter  bread  of  Life! 


72 


EULOGY 


EULOGY 

jETTER  than  all  the  tombstone  glosses 
sleek. 

One  tear  wiped  secretly  from  sorrow^s  cheek; 
Instead  of  marble  complimentings  then. 
Give  me  warm  mention  on  the  lips  of  men. 


73 


FROM    THE    BOOK    OF  LIFE 


TO    AN    EVOLUTIONIST 

fMJOOD,  probing  friend,  I  accept  yotir  view; 
^^y  We  are  apes,  time-mellowed,  yoti  and  I; 

BtJt  yotJ  stop  half-way,  — for  if  stich  be  true, 
We  both  may  be  angels,  by  and  bye* 


74 


IN   A   PLACE   OF   HONOR 


IN    A    PLACE    OF    HONOR 

|E  was  anhtingcred  for  the  bread  hight 
Fame; 

Meanwhile,  was  btrffeted  and  spit  upon. 
Doubted,  reviled  and  given  every  name 
That  stands  for  hatred  underneath  the  stin^ 
Btrt  when  he  cried:    "  How  long,  how  long,  0 

Lord?" 
A  Voice  said:  **  This  is  fame;  take  thy  reward." 


75 


FROM   THE   BOOK   OF   LIFE 


BALLAD  OF  THE  PRINCE  AND 
THE    BIRD 

|ARK  to  a  Moorish  legend 

Ottt  of  old  days  of  Spain,  — 
Land  of  the  lace-work  arches, 
G)Ior  and  song  and  pain* 

It  happed  a  King  of  the  country 

Had  a  well-beloved  son, 
And  feared  lest  he  be  a  worldling. 

Ere  ever  his  youth  were  done* 

So  he  kept  him  close,  that  never 
Might  sin  approach  his  sotil, 

Wrapt  him  full  soft  in  riches. 
Banished  all  sight  of  dole* 

76 


THE  PRINCE  AND   THE  BIRD 

The  Prince  was  clothed  in  royal. 
Men  bowed  to  his  beck  and  call; 

Btit  he  sorely  longed  for  freedom. 
And  sickened  of  it  all* 

And  sometimes  in  his  dreamings 
His  heart  cried  otrt  to  know 

The  why  and  wherefore  of  living. 
The  meaning  of  weal  and  woe« 

Heavily  passed  his  pleasures, 
Listless  he  walked  his  ways; 

Until,  for  the  sake  of  pastime. 
He  often  let  his  gaze 

Fall  on  the  birds  that  fluttered 

Abotrt  the  sunlit  court. 
Watched  them  and  yearned  for  freedom 

And  envied  them  their  sport; 

77 


FROM   THE   BOOK   OF   LIFE 

Pondered  their  words  so  straitly. 
That,  on  a  wonderM  day, 

Stidden,  he  understood  them,  — 
Their  language  and  their  play. 

For  a  white  dove  was  among  them, 
A  bird  of  peerless  sheen, 

Whose  note  was  f Itrte-Iike  tender 
The  pillared  walks  between* 

And  lo,  he  learned  their  secret 
From  the  singing  of  the  dove! 

The  world  was  changed  like  magic. 
He  knew  that  life  was  love; 

For  **  love,  love,  love,''  it  chanted. 
The  bird  whose  breast  was  white. 

Yea,  **  love,  love,  love ''  forever 
By  day  time  and  by  night* 

78 


THE   PRINCE    AND   THE    BIRD 

And  soon  a  strange,  sweet  story 
This  bird-friend  told  the  yotrth: 

Howt  far  beyond  the  palace. 
There  dwelt  in  very  sooth 

A  girl,  deep-eyed  and  lissome. 

Engirt  with  evil  charms. 
Awaiting  her  deliverer 

To  fold  her  in  his  arms* 

Then;  with  his  blood  a-beating. 

As  ne'er  it  beat  before. 
One  starless  night  the  stripling 

Slipped  past  the  outer  door. 

And  on  that  dear  adventure 
Stole  forth,  nor  breathed  a  word; 

Fled  through  the  scented  midnight^ 
Led  ever  by  the  bird* 

79 


FROM   THE   BOOK  OF   LIFE 

And  when  the  place  of  magic 
Was  reachedt  he  entered  in 

By  a  great  hope  tipholdent  — 
His  mistress'  heart  to  win! 

Aglow  with  hope  and  wonder , 
In  a  great  trance  of  bliss. 

The  lover  claimed  his  sweetheart 
With  many  a  clasp  and  kiss. 

The  lone  dove  poised,  contented. 

High  on  a  linden  tree. 
And  chanted  sweet  and  loadly 

Of  love's  divinity* 

So  there  the  Prince  won  knowledge 
Of  life,  and  fotind  his  joy; 

He  walked  a  slave  no  longer. 
Nor  yet  a  witless  boy. 
80 


THE   PRINCE   AND   THE  BIRD 


And  those  who  tell  the  legend^ 
Believe  with  all  their  heart 

That  life  is  love,  that  nothing 
Keeps  fated  ones  apart« 

And  they  will  ever  honor 
That  gentle  wight,  the  dove,' 

Who  led  a  Prince  from  prison 
To  liberty  and  love^ 


8i 


FROM   THE  BOOK  OF  LIFE 


SONG    OF    THE    EARTHLINGS 

of  the  earth  we  came. 
Into  the  earth  we  go: 
Out  aim  leaped  high  like  flame, 
Btrt  Time  has  brought  tis  low* 


Under  the  citistered  trees 
Dreams  we  dreamt  a  score; 

By  headlands  of  splendid  seas 
We  ravaged  and  sting  and  swore. 


Amid  the  cities  of  men 

We  thrilled  to  Lifers  various  qttest; 
Very  far  from  tis  then 

The  thought  that  slumber  is  best. 
82 


SONG   OF   THE  EARTHLINGS 

Stm  and  moon  and  stars 

Lighted  \ss  on  ottr  way: 
Happy,  we  took  oar  scars, 

Happy,  we  earned  otir  pay* 

Light-foot  creatures  were  we. 
Each  bent  on  his  own  device; 

Love  or  war,  par-die. 
At  the  throw  of  the  loaded  dice. 

One  thing,  only  one. 

Utterly  passed  xss  by: 
That  when  otir  day  was  done 

We  must  cease;  0  mates,  and  diel 

Btit  out  of  the  earth  we  come. 
And  into  the  earth  we  go; 

Otjr  shame  alike  with  owr  fame. 
Old  Time  has  laid  them  low. 

83 


FROM   THE   BOOK   OF   LIFE 


TWO    TOWNS    OF    FAME 

|W0  tiny  towns  of  Palestine 
Back  in  lost  years  and  Orient  lands. 
How  jewel-like  they  shine  and  shine 
Out  of  a  mist  of  seas  and  sands! 
For  Christ  was  born  and  Christ  was  bred 
In  those  two  towns,  in  lowlihed* 

Two  tiny  towns:    In  Bethlehem  lay^ 
A  tender  babe,  whose  mother  kist 
The  little  wight,  and  waited  day. 
While  all  the  manger  life  was  whist; 
Shepherds  below,  seraphs  above. 
Acclaimed  Him  king,  sang  forth  their  love. 

And  afterward,  the  chosen  three, 
Joseph  and  Mary  and  the  Child, 

84 


TWO   TOWNS   OF   FAME 


To  Nazareth  joumeyci  there  to  be 
In  the  home-hamlet  safe  enisled; 
There  waxed  the  wondrous  Boy,  and  there 
Mary  the  mother  gave  Him  care* 


HiU  breezes  blow  upon  the  brow 
Of  the  J«dean  town;  hard  by. 
Loomed  great  Jerusalem,  where  now 
The  two  must  seek  the  Temple  high. 
Bringing  the  Boy,  to  consecrate 
His  life  within  the  sacred  gate. 


In  Nazareth  of  Galilee, 
Couched  in  a  folding  of  the  hills. 
The  olive  groves  are  good  to  see. 
The  meadow  lands  seem  far  from  ills. 
'Twas  there  that  Jesus,  without  guile, 
Waxed  tall  beneath  His  mother's  smile. 
8s 


FROM   THE  BOOK   OF   LIFE 

To-day,  how  small  and  mean  their  guise. 

Poor  Bethlehem  and  Nazareth! 

A  traveler  might  deem  it  wise 

To  pass  them  by,  and  save  his  breath; 

"Why  climb  gattnt  hills  or  pace  lone  lanes, 

Where  only  memory  remains? 

Forever  musical  the  sound 

Of  Nazareth  and  Bethlehem! 

Erect,  or  razed  to  the  ground, 

The  whole  world  will  remember  them; 

For  whatsoever  things  they  do, 

A  light  of  Him  shines  clearly  through. 

The  Capitols  of  pomp  and  praise. 
Most  populous  cities  in  their  pride, 
What  matters  their  most  golden  days 
When  set  these  villages  beside? 
So  long  as  Time  and  Tide  shall  be. 
The  twain  shall  shine  through  history! 
86 


OF   THOSE   WHO   WALK   ALONE 


OF  THOSE  WHO  WALK  ALONE 

[OMEN  there  are  on  earth,  most  sweet  and 
high. 

Who  lose  their  own,  and  walk  bereft  and 
lonely. 
Loving  that  one  lost  heart  tintil  they  (Ue, 
Loving  it  only^ 

And  so  they  never  see  beside  them  grow 
Children,   whose   coming   is   like   breath  of 
flowers; 

Consoled  by  subtler  loves  the  angels  know 
Through  childless  hoars. 

Good  deeds  they  do:    they  comfort  and  they 
bless 
Li  duties  others  put  off  till  the  morrow; 

87 


FROM    THE    BOOK   OF   LIFE 

Their  look  is  balm,  their  touch  is  tenderness 
To  all  in  sorrow* 

Betimes  the  world  smiles  at  them^  as  'twere 
shame. 

This  maiden  guise,  long  after  youth's  departed; 
Btrt  in  God's  Book  they  bear  another  name  — 

**  The  faithful-hearted*" 

Faithful  in  life,  and  faithful  unto  death. 
Such    souls,    in    sooth,    illume    with    luster 
splendid 
That  glimpsed,  glad  land  wherein,  the  Vision 
saith. 
Earth's  wrongs  are  ended. 


88 


THE   MOTHER   CHURCH 


THE    MOTHER    CHURCH 

IHE  rises  in  a  land  that  bears  no  name 
Amongst  mankind:    the  centuries  have 

tried 
Li  vain  to  hint  her  beauties,  dim  her  fame; 
Time  in  its  march  has  only  sanctified 
Her  rttggedness  into  a  wonder  wide 
And  noble,  and  engirt  her  massy  walls 
With  memory  that  like  a  deep  bell  calls^ 

Riches  of  wreathen  stone  are  here:   the  length 
Is  fretted  o'er  with  statties,  stately  spires 
Do  lift  their  fluted  majesty  and  strength 
Above  the  western  front:  harmonious  fires 
Bum  in  the  windows,  whence  the  chaunting 
choirs 

89 


FROM    THE   BOOK  OF   LIFE 

Arc  heard  at  matins  and  at  even-song. 
Making  the  worship  musical  and  strong. 

Within,  the  light  is  softened,  that  the  soul 
That  shrinks  from  questions  in  the  glare  of  day. 
May  meditate  and  mttse,  and  let  its  dole 
Slip  off,  and  feel  sin-sickness  pass  away. 
The  mighty  nave  doth  seem  the  straightest  way 
To  God,  the  echoing  aisles  lead  altarward. 
Where  rest  the  mystic  tokens  of  the  Lord. 

Love  is  the  note  the  organ  plays  most  clear. 
Work  is  the  legend  blazoned  for  the  eye 
FtiU  oft;  yet  rest  from  labor,  too,  is  here 
And  sleep  for  all  the  weary  passers-by. 
From  foot-worn  floor  to  ceiling  vaulted  high 
The  place  breathes  prayer,  and  hope,  and  pain's 

release; 
And  ttp  its  towers  builds  the  Dove  of  Peace. 

90 


THE    MOTHER  CHURCH 


AU  climes  and  countries  meet  beneath  its  dome 
In  brotherly  exchange  of  smile  and  speech; 
For  east  and  west  alike  it  is  a  home 
That  beckons  men  o'er  many  a  desert  reach 
And  barren  sea;   companion-voyagers  each. 
They  come  together  here  in  common  love 
To  praise  and  pray  and  get  the  gain  thereof. 

A  motley  crowd  to  look  upon;  for  some 
Misfeattjred  are,  or  swart;  and  some  tincotrth 
Of  garb,  and  word;  and  others  here  that  come 
Fierce-visaged  seem,  as  never  touched  by  rtith; 
Yet  all  have  hearts  and  all  do  yearn  in  sooth 
For  betterment,  since  neither  land  nor  dress 
Can  cfiange  otir  mortal  needs  nor  make  them 
less* 

It  is  a  heartsome  sight  to  see  them  pour 
Along  the  pavement,  pause  before  some  shrine, 
91 


FROM  THE    BOOK    OF   LIFE 

Obeisance  make  beside  some  carven  door 
Or  at  the  altars  kneel  with  symboled  sign^ 
Or  offer  gifts^  or  spill  oblation  wine* 
Stich  mingling  of  all  creeds  were  ill  to  tell. 
Did  not  a  spirit  whisper:    **  It  is  well/' 

Gjntintially  they  come  and  go:  a  year 
One  watching  might  not  see  the  selfsame  face. 
Yet  all  show  friendly  fashion,  all  appear 
Like  old  familiars  passing  through  the  place; 
And  issuing  forth,  a  subtle  gain  of  grace 
Marks  everyone,  the  women  and  the  men* 
And  keeps  them  heartened  till  they  come  again* 

ID 

The  work  here  wrought  is  wide  as  is  the  world. 
For  every  coign  and  Walk  and  storied  spot. 
For  every  scented  breath  of  incense  curled 
About  the  images,  there  is,  I  wot, 
92 


THE    MOTHER    CHURCH 

Some  Dorothy  or  Griscid  or  Latincelot 
Journeying  forth  to  succor  and  to  heal. 
To  go  divinely  at  mankind's  appeal. 

And  when  in  hovels  or  in  haants  more  vile 

Some  messenger  benign  draws  near  to  tell 

Of  Mother  Church,  and  softly  speaks  meanwhile 

Of  brotherhood,  of  love  ineffable. 

Those  sorry  folk  do  feel  the  wonder-spell. 

And  sicken  sore  to  see  her  tops  and  towers 

And  hear  the  great  bell  toll  the  tranquil  hours. 

So  come  they  here,  and  yearlong  they  return 
Kindled  to  work  through  worship:  they  are  free 
Of  all  the  mother-magic  and  do  yearn 
To  show  how  great  a  thing  is  charity; 
As  once  those  Greeks  who  saw  at  last  the  sea. 
Leaped  in  their  souls,  so  do  these  souls  rejoice. 
Hearing  afar  the  call  of  God's  own  voice. 
93 


FROM   THE   BOOK   OF  LIFE 

0  Mother  Ctixstch,  0  vision  long  to  seek. 
When  shall  oar  eyes  behold  thee,  say,  0  when? 
In  what  far  land,  with  what  demeanor  meek 
Yet  queenly,  wilt  thott  rtile  the  tribes  of  men. 
Bringing  the  fabled  days  of  bliss  again? 
When  God  means  love  to  every  mother's  son. 
When  hate  is  dead  — and  heaven  here  begtm! 


THE    END. 


94 


UNIVERS^iBife^F  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 

STAMPED  BELOW 

OCT  281915  . 

MAR  S91922. 

'''^ECD  ^^ 

MAT  01925 

'"^'O'es-sPM 

MAR  4  192^ 

n  18  1927 

;•  FEB  m  \m 

2f,lViay^9^ 

f 

^     i<Sivfa}:T; 

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% 

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1'C161095 


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